"Are you little Aning?"
No wonder he always felt the young man in front of him was somewhat familiar. But that couldn't be; little Aning was such a fair-skinned child. When they were young, the neighbors would always joke that little Aning was born into the wrong body; such a delicate, fair child should have been a girl.
The young man in front had dark skin, a pea-sized mole at the corner of his mouth, and flamboyant yellow hair, looking every bit like a delinquent, a world apart from the little Aning in memory.
The young man lowered his eyes and smiled, "Uncle Qian, I am Aning."
Qian Zhuang was first surprised, then delighted, "Aning, it really is you. I haven't heard from you in so many years. I heard you were severely injured in that fire. Back then, your aunt was hurt badly, and she couldn't be left alone. By the time I got the news and went to see you, you'd already gone back to Yunzhou with your parents."
